23시

7호선을 탔다.
거짓말같이 말을 아직 못하는 걸음마는 완벽한 아기와 할머니가 탔다. 몽골인 같다. 초현실적으로 느껴지는 이유는 지금이 23시경 이기 때문이다.
아기가 이 시간 지하철을 타고 있는 것은 비현실적이다. 내가 꿈을 꾸고 있는 것만 같다.

​I stepped onto Subway Line 7. Around 11 PM, as if by some trick of fate, a toddler and a grandmother boarded the train. The baby, walking perfectly but not yet able to speak, and a grandmother who appeared to be Mongolian. The very presence of a baby on the subway at this hour felt so unrealistic that for a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming.
​Usually, at this time of night, the subway is filled with either the heavy silence of those who have finished their daily battles or the rowdy noise of late-night drinkers. But when the presence of a baby—a symbol of "tomorrow"—suddenly interrupts that stagnant air, the causality of daily life collapses, replaced by a strange sense of wonder.
​Perhaps, for that child, this late-night subway is the world’s largest cradle. Seeing the toddler walk steadily, holding the grandmother's hand amidst this surreal scene, felt like a brief greeting from another dimension to someone like me, who had been running through the exhausting night. The dreamlike night on Line 7 deepens.